


Melethiel, mission completed!?

by Teriana



Series: Middle Earth funny tales and Other Utter Poppycock [8]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Quest of Erebor, Thranduil - Freeform, Thranduil's wife - Freeform, thorin oakenshield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22119268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teriana/pseuds/Teriana
Summary: Sometimes love can capture your heart unexpectedly, and a close person, your loved one you once knew can become the secret power that will guide you to your happiness.Love is a miracle.
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Thranduil
Series: Middle Earth funny tales and Other Utter Poppycock [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/711894
Kudos: 5





	Melethiel, mission completed!?

**Author's Note:**

> In the vicious fortress my heart was left  
> It’s buried in there forevermore  
> It’s pierced with an arrow of enemy  
> I wish, my love, it weren’t so  
> I’m on my knees and I behold  
> Thy dear and tender traits  
> But you’re numb, and eyes are closed  
> Your mouth bleeds, blood stained your fair strands  
> I’d give my life for your return  
> But all I have the bitter truth  
> It hurts so deep, you’d ever known  
> I’m crushed, my love, and so confused  
> What have I done? Oh, my sweetheart!  
> How did I let you do that? Say!  
> And what delay prevented me  
> From keeping the death away?  
> Why Fate’s so fierce? I feel insane  
> It brought us close and did us part  
> It never asked us anything  
> But all I wished we’d never part  
> And bathed in love and cherished it  
> And walked this path until the end of time  
> I wish it’d never happened so, my love  
> But all I see is the crimson crime  
> But all I hear is only cry and echo of my cry  
> Repeating, screaming the only word  
> Why is it so? Oh, why?  
> In vicious fortress my life and soul  
> Were buried and stayed with yours  
> This burden’s mine forevermore  
> The path for myself I chose

The Elven King Thranduil was famous for his dislike of absolutely everything, and besides, was an incorrigibly fractious man.

He abhorred his neighbors, the elven brethren who lived in the forest beyond the Misty Mountains, and those who dwelled in the southwest of Middle Earth. The reason for such enmity to his own elven kin was clearly clear – these creatures called themselves Sindar just as he called himself, and at the same time, they considered him a local simpleton. The elves of Rivendell and Lorien had luminous intellects, were inborn poets, artists, and musicians, and so in a word surpassed Thranduil and his Wood-elves in every way. They had never invited him on any occasion and so Thranduil decided they had not been friends from the beginning.

“At least these dummies don’t have an impressive army I have.” he thought, finding comfort in his words.

But as the time spun away, the Elven King found a new object of dislike that aroused his hatred. They were dwarves of Erebor, whom he had asked about one favor – to frame his gems. However, greedy for gold and treasures, mountain folk decided to appropriate this incredible elven gems.

Presently, Thranduil intensely loathed everything about the dwarves. The way they had treated him, the way they had cheated him and made a fool of him, mocking him in their own kingdom. For that humiliation, a mortal affront he had sworn to take a terrible revenge on them.

So now that you have a close approach of Thranduil’s true elven personality you must understand how things were in his own kingdom.

His subjects feared his pettish mood that had a fickle and mutable nature. It was as if he’d been in high spirits a minute ago, and then heads rolled because of any trifle.

Having ruled his Woodland Realm for thousands years, the Elven King Thranduil usually demanded obedience from his people, and they rendered it.

Unfortunately, his scouts had been misfiring lately.

And as you may have guessed, the Elven King abhorred leaving anything undone. Especially he did not tolerate the unfinished matters of his own, the unfulfilled errands, and the incomplete missions of his men.

The target of his mission was clear and precise. He demanded to snitch his heirloom from the Seventh Dwarvish Kingdom, and his guys had made so many attempts, but each time they came back with nothing. The Elven King was as cross as a bear, hearing one and the same word “failure” from his people, and he roared wildly in frustration beside his wooden throne with its bizarre horns.

Having heard this damned word for the umpteenth time from one of his scouts, he ordered to stop these senseless penetrations and announced that he would take over this mission.

In the days of Thrór’s reign a terrible disaster occurred. A dragon named Smaug attacked Erebor and burnt the City of Dale to ashes. This cruel beast, sowing terror and death behind it, forced the entrance of the Lonely Mountain and drove the dwarves from their dwelling. Like a host he laid his huge carcass on the treasures.

The news of the dragon’s sudden attack quickly reached the ear of Thranduil, and he decided to visit his old friends. Not, of course, to help them. He had simply come there to mock at their disastrous situation, to gloat over their misfortune. Therefore, he came to the Lonely Mountain and stood there on the hill, admiring the smoking mountain’s scene and watching with genuine malice the bereaved dwarf folk deprived of their home, which was fleeing the mountain for their lives.

And when one of them, Thorin, Thrór’s grandson turned to the Elven King for help, Thranduil turned a deaf ear and left for home.

This tragedy seriously deteriorated the situation in the Seventh Dwarvish Kingdom and because of the dragon shut the Elven King out from hope to get his treasure back.

His Wood-elves did not venture to steal his gems from the Dragon of Erebor. 

So the mission he wanted to take over was about to fail again.

Standing on his veranda and musing upon the distant Smaug’s desolation, Thranduil thought about his task. He sent his scouts after the dwarves and waited patiently for news. Homeless sons and daughters of Durin wandered through the Wilderness in search of a new home for them.

About thirty years have passed, and they were still on their way to another life. But the number of them has lessened greatly. The battle of Azanulbizar claimed hundreds lives of their kin, including Thorin’s grandfather Thrór and his brother Frerin.

Nevertheless, the fortune had its mercy on Aulë children, and soon the dwarves found a good place to settle, their former residence Ered Luin.

Beholding the abandoned lifeless area that lay around the Lonely Mountain, Thranduil did not notice that he was disturbed by his devoted servant Eldaron, who had come to his master with news of the dwarves.

“Now Eldaron, tell me what my scouts have found out about these vile creatures?” the Elven King asked his servant.

The black-haired Silvan elf bowed to his king and answered politely.

“The dwarves have reached Ered Luin, Your Majesty, and they settled in there. I believe that mountains will become their refugee camp for a long time.”

Thranduil twirled his silver strand, looking out at the colorful autumn forest, and then pronounced thoughtfully.

“Something tells me they will return one day. Too much gold conceals Erebor, and it teases the greedy minds of the mountain folk.

“Our scouts watch them day and night.” Eldaron informed his master of this.

“Good!” the Elven King nodded and turned to his servant.

Fearing the wrath of his Lord, the latter immediately bowed low.

“Tell them to keep an eye on the dwarves’ every move and bring me more news.” Thranduil ordered in an imperious tone and departed for a forest stroll.

Meanwhile, little by little, the dwarves of Erebor were getting used to a new place. Though they had not so much here as they had had earlier, they felt safe in Ered Luin.

Only Thorin felt different. He cherished a moment of hope when they could return and reclaim their homeland, and that was exactly what Thranduil was thinking.

Sometimes some of the dwarves communicated with the elves from Mithlond that was nearby and they did not know they were talking to Thranduil’s elves.

The scouts from the Woodland Realm worked perfectly. Every end of the week Thranduil received something new from the west of Middle Earth. But in truth, it was not exactly he wanted to hear. Time flew quickly, and at first the Lord of the Silvan Elves was eager to hear about Thráin’s disappearance and that Thorin had been accepted as the King of Durin’s Folk. However then Thranduil felt he was proper fed up. He had forgotten, so to speak, about the dwarves and their abandoned mountain. Well, he forgot about all this for ninety years until that very spring came.

A little bird told him that some familiar dwarves and their leader Thorin Oakenshield had been seen in the Shire, which was in the western region of Middle Earth where the Halflings lived. 

His small company of thirteen dwarves, one hobbit and one wizard had been tracked down on the road from Bree by Thranduil’s scouts. The dwarves were going east.

That very day Eldaron appeared before his master’s eyes and loudly announced.

“Your Majesty, the dwarves had been seen near the bridge of Mitheithel! They are going east!”

This news excited the curiosity of the Elven King, and he inquired slyly of his servant.

“I wonder why they are going east, Eldaron.”

“It’s as clear as day, my lord. They are going home.” The black-haired elven guy replied, and was nailed to the floor by an irritated glance of his king.

“I know that, you stupid Silvan!” the Elven King snapped at poor Eldaron, gave himself airs, and made a few steps to the edge of his stone veranda, his gown’s hem rustled, brushing the floor.

Listening to the delusive quietness of the spring forest that had not been green for nearly two thousand years and was densely inhabited by dangerous scary creatures, Thranduil thought of the dwarves of Erebor who had ventured back. So now he will have to deal with Thrór’s grandson who definitely has great ambitions to become the new King under the Mountain. 

“Just you wait, dwarf!” Thranduil smirked. “You’ll have to go through my forest because there is no other way home. Oops! And here I am, catching you and demanding from you something what’s mine.” He rubbed his hands together, anticipating their sudden meeting. The enthusiasm of the Lord of the Silvan Elves’ ran away with him and he did not notice that he was speaking aloud.

“And what if the spiders catch them first, Your Majesty?” his servant addressed him his curious question.

Thranduil cast his displeased look over his shoulder and said.

“We’ll extend a helping hand to the poor ones,” his eyes narrowed, examining the grey cloud creeping across the sky from the Lonely Mountain. “But only to take away what is mine!” he broke into a loud sinister laugh. It seemed sinister only to him; to the others it sounded very funny. Well, a little girlish as some of his subjects said. Moreover, his deviant behavior, as well as his temper which had an extremely dangerous explosive nature became a legend amongst his Wood-elves.

The roots of this problem were deeply concealed in his past, about two thousand years ago when Sauron built his dark ugly fortress. A shadow fell on Greenwood the Great, and it began to be called Mirkwood. Along with this, another serious tragedy occurred in Thranduil’s life. A series of circumstances led to something truly awful. His wife went out of this world and left him their only treasure – their son Legolas. Having surrounded his son with all his effusive love and care he could offer, Thranduil became his mother and father in one person. But as soon as Legolas grew up, his father changed dramatically. He became even more irascible and fretful. He preferred to spend his feasts alone in his chamber, while all his elves were having fun down there. He fell into the drinking habit and this was his best friend.

And what else could he do? His outings were diminished to a minimum because the forest had become the foul place to go out.

So the Elven King arranged his private life within the walls of the mountain as he liked best. Some of the elves who visited his private chamber saw lots of feminine things or rather some nice bagatelles, fine decorations, exquisite laces and sweet crocheted napkins which mostly maidens like to place in their rooms, in general, all this could be found in all corners of his room.

“Shall we set a permanent surveillance, my lord?” Eldaron’s sudden question drew Thranduil out of his thoughts.

“No. I see no reason to do this more often. They’ll certainly go through my forest; we need only the right moment to attack them.” The Elven King explained calmly.

“Let me remind you, my lord, that there is another way to the Lonely Mountain. If they take far to the south through the...”

“Moria mines?” Thranduil interfered into his servant’s speech and produced a derisive chuckle. “No one ventures to stick his nose inside the gloom of the Misty Mountains, for there dwells Durin’s bane. I’m sure the dwarves will only use the old forest road that lies through Mirkwood.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The Silvan elf agreed, not wishing to argue with his master any longer. He bowed and departed.

As time flew, the Elven King’s utterance about the dwarves looked more and more prophetic.

A small but brave company of Thorin Oakenshield was moving towards the intended target getting into all kinds of trouble on the way, which the dwarves called adventures. Well, for example, they barely stayed alive when the ugly trolls wanted to gobble them, and Gandalf saved them at the last moment, turning these giant creatures into stone statues.

Another time after visiting Rivendell on midsummer day, the dwarves were captured by the Goblin King, and the elves of the Elven King, who had been watching them all the time, learnt that Thorin and his dwarves had managed to escape from the Goblin-town by passing through the Misty Mountains. However, as soon as the dwarves were on the other side of the mountains, they encountered the orcs, and Thorin got into a fight with their leader monstrous Azog. As a result, he was wounded and knocked out. The dells where the dwarves were hiding from the orcs were seized with fire, and Gandalf had to turn to Manwë for help. His giant eagles flew to the dwarves’ rescue and carried them to the Carrock, a rock that stood near Mirkwood.

The King of the Silvan Elves was well informed of all the movements of Thorin’s company. He felt a strong excitement rising with Thorin’s approach to his forest. The news got better and better each time and meanwhile, summer was coming to an end.

At the end of August the dwarves finally reached Mirkwood.

The Elven King was “happy beyond all measure” anticipating the seizure of the dwarves. Surely, he’d been waiting for this moment for about two hundred years. He had ordered his captain of the guard, Tauriel, a red-haired maiden to organize an operation to capture Thorin’s company in the forest, and looked forward to it. And as he expected, his Wood-elves had worked clearly – killed the horrible monsters and got the dwarves.

But little knew the Elven King about Thrór’s grandson obstinacy since it was absolutely the same as his own. Silent and sullen was the future King under the Mountain, while Thranduil spoke and even offered him his help in banishing the dragon (of course, he only said this to embellish his proposal, because he had no idea how to get the dragon driven out of Erebor), but as soon as Thorin heard about the proposed help he decided to remind Thranduil of all humiliations and losses the dwarves had suffered because someone turned out to be a coward and tailed off.

The Elven King startled back, he immediately understood the meaning of the Thorin’s accusation against him. He wasn’t going to pocket the affront and broke out into retaliatory abuse. He refreshed Thorin’s memory of his own humiliation in Erebor when he had been deprived of his heirloom fraudulently.

Soon their conversation in high-pitched tones reached a dead end, and the both kings simply stared at each other.

Their confrontation seemed to last eternally.

Thorin’s imperturbable blue eyes gazed at enraged Thranduil looming over his face.

The Elven King’s azure eyes flaming with wrath scanned the impudent dwarf who dared to resist him. He looked at the dwarf’s tangled strands covered with pieces of cobwebs and then back into his blue eyes. They stubbornly told Thranduil that their owner was hell stubborn.

“You know what, dwarf,” Thranduil spoke at last, and his eyes radiated craftiness. “I’m inclined to delay your departure for the Lonely Mountain. You will have to stay here in my dungeons with your dwarf fellows until you change your mind.”

Thorin hastened to answer.

“I won’t do this. That’s my last word. I don’t bargain for a price when the matter concerns the honor of my kingdom.”

Hearing this resolute firmness in dwarf’s words, Thranduil felt even more infuriated.

“Guards!” he shouted for his elves making angry gestures.

Two elven soldiers came quickly and seized surprised Thorin by the arms.

“Take him away!” The Elven King ordered irritably, waving a casual dismission to them. “Enjoy my hospitality, dwarf, while I wait for your right answer.”

“My Right answer is NO.” Thorin shot out, and the elves dragged him down the passage.

“That’s the wrong answer. Think it better! Think today and speak tomorrow!” Thranduil’s sneering voice prompted him from behind, and Thorin heard him laugh. And that was really strange laugh.

As soon as the captive was withdrawn, the Elven King hid behind his whimsical throne and began to pound the wooden surface with his fists, roaring angrily. He thought, well, he didn’t doubt that this day would be his victory, but it turned out to be a real disaster. This damned dwarf wasn’t desirous of agreeing or any compromising. He was awfully stubborn. Melkor take him! Thranduil closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against his throne racking his brain how to convince the dwarf to return his treasure. Force in this case is not the best advisor; the only way is to outwit him, to turn the enemy’s flank. However, it’s easier said than done. How could he do it so carefully that this dwarf couldn’t sniff out anything? Yes, how?

“Your Majesty!”

The Elven King heard a feminine voice and looked out from behind his throne.

It was the captain of his guard Tauriel.

“Your Majesty,” she repeated. “Should I make arrangements for dwarves’ feeding?”

Thranduil was quiet. He meditated on it for a second and then answered, smiling mysteriously.

“Yes, you should do that, Tauriel. And don’t forget that today we have Mereth-en-Gilith, so let our guests enjoy this feast and treat them to wine.”

Tauriel bowed politely.

“I’m not sure they will want to drink wine, Your Majesty.” She said casting her eyes down.

Thranduil approached the captain of his guard.

“I’m sure you are cognizant of the peculiarities of the case, Tauriel. I have no doubt that you will find a way to persuade them to do this.” His strict voice mentioned.

“Yes, my lord.” Tauriel responded obediently. “I will do my best.”

She bowed low, leaving.

“And call here Legolas.” The Elven King demanded walking up to his throne.

He went upstairs and then sat down in the wooden armchair. But he didn’t stay there long for in a few minutes his son came to him.

“Adana.” Legolas greeted his father and bowed respectfully.

“Legolas!” Thranduil smiled affably as he approached his son and suddenly embraced him very warmly. “I’m really glad to see you, nin ion. A lot of wine is prepared for tonight’s feast, and I can’t wait to start celebrating it.”

Legolas saw the burning excitement in his father’s eyes and sighed sadly.

“Yes, father. Galion and his guys selected the best from Dorwinion.”

The Elven King’s eyes were wild with desire.

“Excellent!”

“But father...” Legolas suddenly paused. “Are you going to isolate yourself in your apartment again and repeat this solitary drinking you’ve been having for two thousand years?” he ended, looking desperately at the Elven King.

Suddenly that felt embarrassed.

“Huh? Do I really do this all the time?” he sincerely asked not even seeing anything wrong with his behavior.

“Yes, father.” Legolas confirmed. “Every year on the same day when Mereth-en Gilith starts, you…

“Enough, Legolas! This is a damn foolish chatter!” the Elven King threw his hand in the air giving him a warning sign to cease it. “I don’t want to hear any more, just leave me alone.”

Legolas produced a disappointed sigh and agreed.

“As you wish father.” And he departed.

The Elven King left his Throne Hall two minutes later.


End file.
